Lost and Found
by Ameliamelia
Summary: My first fanfic! A main course of hurt/comfort, with a heaping serving of bromance, a dash of Merlin!Whump, a side of BAMF!Merlin and BAMF!Arthur, with a bit of knights, Gwen, Freya, and plot for added spice. Takes place in a slightly AU, slightly wobbly timeline, fourth season-ish, but you'll figure out what's different as you read. Rated T for violence. Please review!
1. Not a Rescue

My very first fanfiction! It is an unabashed course of hurt/comfort, with a heaping serving of bromance, a dash of Merlin!Whump, and a side of BAMF!Merlin and BAMF!Arthur, with a little bit of knights, Gwen, Freya, and plot for added spice. Takes place in a slightly AU, slightly wobbly timeline, fourth season-ish, but you'll figure out what's different as you read. Rated T for violence. I would love to see reviews, as this is my first fic so I'm a bit nervous. No beta reader so apologies for any errors. Criticism is welcome, but be gentle!

Author's new note: Wow, thanks to everyone who wrote reviews. Your kind words have totally alleviated my Losing My Fanfiction Virginity nerves, and I have to admit they made me giggle like a schoolgirl and exclaim, "People actually like my story!" Thanks again! Now I need to think of something new to write...

**I. Not a Rescue**

Arthur could swear Excalibur was vibrating in his hand, but he figured that was just the adrenaline. He hadn't used this sword since he had banished Merlin, but something had told him that _this_ was the sword he needed to bring. The sword that Merlin had led him to. The sword in the stone. The sword that had reminded him who he was, and had given him the strength to be king of Camelot once more.

He motioned silently to his men to follow, as they crept down the dark corridors of Cenred's castle. Cenred had chosen an ancient citadel, remote and well positioned, high upon a coastal cliff. Arthur had brought only his most faithful knights: Leon, Percival, Elyan, and Gwaine. He knew that a small and stealthy team of men was the best chance he had at accomplishing this…this…was it a rescue mission? Arthur wasn't sure. He didn't know what he would do with Merlin once he'd freed him from Cenred's grasp.

A wave of anger temporarily blinded Arthur as he thought of his former servant. He felt anger at Merlin for his betrayal, he felt anger at himself for allowing yet another person to get close enough to hurt him. He felt anger at his knights, who seemed as if they couldn't even bring themselves to have opinions on the matter. Gwaine had barely spoken to Arthur in months, sure, but neither had he left Arthur's service to stand at Merlin's side – it seemed Gwaine was just as confused as Arthur was, when it came to all of this.

And Arthur was confused, or perhaps _conflicted_ was the better word, Arthur wasn't sure. All he was sure of was that he was angry. He felt anger at Gwen, and the way she quietly blamed him: Gaius had been falling ill often as of late, "A broken heart," Gwen had said. More than anything, he felt anger at the way Merlin had stood before him, defeated, when Arthur had banished him from Camelot to return upon pain of death. Merlin was never defeated. But he had left, silently, head bowed. He didn't know why, but seeing Merlin defeated angered Arthur more than anything else.

As usual the anger was followed by a wave of shame. Arthur tried to quell it. He had done nothing wrong! It was Merlin who had betrayed _him_. It was Merlin who was a traitor to the crown and to Camelot. But Arthur stopped and shuddered when an image from last night's nightmare flashed into his mind. He had dreamed it so many times in the months since Merlin had left that it seemed permanently etched on the lens of his mind's eye: It was the day that he had banished Merlin, and the two of them faced each other in the court, surrounded by all the people they knew and loved, but their roles were reversed; Arthur knelt painfully on the hard floor, his head downcast in shame. Merlin stood in front of him, anger emanating from his every pore. _"You betrayed me, Arthur,"_ he said. _"How could you?"_

"Arthur, are you alright?" he felt a hand on his shoulder, it was Leon.

"Yes," whispered Arthur, "We keep going."

The knights were eager; Arthur could sense it in their every movement. When Arthur's spies had brought word that Cenred had been enslaving magical people, the knights had become tense, and though they might deny it, Arthur knew that it wasn't just fear for the kingdom that had them on edge. When the spies had brought word that Merlin had been taken captive, the tension became palpable, and Arthur knew they had to act.

Arthur had heard of kings doing this before, long in the past: They would capture sorcerers, and either bribe or enslave them, exploiting their power. It seemed that Morgause had given Cenred a taste of the power of magic, and now he was unable to let it go. Arthur knew that there existed manacles and chains that were enchanted, and could bind a sorcerer's magic, to be released only when the power-hungry king allowed. Indeed, a giant set of such chains had held the Great Dragon prisoner beneath Camelot for nearly two decades. Above all, Arthur knew that Merlin was powerful. Very powerful. He had seen it with his own eyes when Merlin brought Morgause and her army down. He shuddered again at the memory of that day.

Merlin could destroy Camelot with a wave of his hand.

_So why didn't he?_ Asked the niggling voice from the back of his skull that had berated Arthur for the past four months.

Arthur ignored it. It was for Camelot that he and his knights rode into an enemy realm. It was for Camelot that he and his knights would retrieve the sorcerer from Cenred's clutches. It was for Camelot, and nothing more.

_Liar._

Arthur heard someone speak. He and his men had crept along the top of a low, partially ruined wall of the ancient citadel. They raised their heads as high as they dared and looked out over the wall onto the court below.

It was late in the evening and the court was illuminated by dozens of torches, along with the faint light of the sunset from the west. The court was partially ruined, the eastern wall entirely missing, while a piece of the northern wall crumbled half away. The remains of once fine tapestries hung from the stone walls, and fluttered in the gentle breeze of the warm summer's evening. A weather-stained throne stood vacant at one end of the court, and a few tables lined the remaining walls, but the half-room was otherwise unfurnished.

Arthur and his men looked down from the western wall, and what was left of the roof jutted out over their heads and partially covered the court, cloaking them in shadow. From this vantage point Arthur could see how high up they were. The citadel was tiered, and stood on a cliff overlooking the forest on one side and the sea on the other. On the tier below the court, Arthur could see over a hundred of Cenred's men. He and his knights had crept through filthy tunnels to avoid Cenred's army, and they would have to be just as stealthy if ever they were going to get out of this place.

Two score or more of Cenred's soldiers surrounded the perimeter of the court, and in the center knelt a thin and shaking figure. Merlin.

Cenred walked toward his captive, and he was close enough that Arthur could almost spit on him.

Arthur could see the enchanted manacles from where he crouched, two at Merlin's wrists, held together with heavy chains, and another around his neck. The magical bonds glistened unnaturally bright in the torchlight.

Merlin looked terrible. Arthur knew he had been in Cenred's hands for at least three weeks, and it was clear that he had been brutally tortured many times over that period. He wore no shirt, and Arthur could see the bloodied lashes of a whip streaking his back. His chest was equally marred, with a crisscross of cuts and a few deep gouges that could have been made only by a slowly moving blade. His trousers were in tatters, so much so that his right buttock and leg were almost completely bare, covered by hardly more than two strips of fabric held up by his belt and pulled together again at the cuff. Where his skin showed through his clothing, Arthur could see vicious bruises and gashes, running all the way from Merlin's backside down to his ankle. Patches of blistered skin told Arthur that he'd been burned, and his left hand looked as if every finger had been broken.

Arthur had seen torture before, but the wave of nausea that struck him now was almost overpowering. A surge of blind rage followed and he felt himself being held back. "No! Sire, not yet! You'll only get yourself killed!" Whispered Leon harshly from behind him, his grip tight on Arthur's shoulder. Arthur looked back, and saw Percival and Elyan similarly restraining Gwaine.

Then they heard a whip crack, followed by a weak moan, and their attention was collectively drawn back to the drama playing out in the courtyard below.

Cenred crouched before Merlin, his hand gently gripping the young man's chin. Behind Merlin, a man with a whip flexed his arm. "We can stop, now," Cenred said gently, "It's all up to you, boy." Merlin just stared at the floor in silence. "There doesn't have to be any more pain." Cenred brushed a lock of black hair from Merlin's forehead. "Do you remember what I told you?" he asked, still speaking in a low and soothing voice, "You can be happy here. Everything your heart desires will be yours."

"Never," said Merlin, so quietly that Arthur could barely make it out.

Cenred backed away, the crack of a whip, a quiet cry of pain, and then a gasp. Arthur just now noticed that there was a woman standing some feet behind Cenred, dressed in pale blue silk, her long, golden hair adorned with jewels that glittered in the torchlight, and upon her head a crown. He had heard Cenred had got himself a queen. The woman had her hand to her mouth, for it was she who had gasped, but when she withdrew it Arthur saw a sickening grin on her face. She watched hungrily as the king walked back to Merlin again, kneeling before him and stroking his hair comfortingly.

"You don't even have to do anything big yet, just something small, to show me that you can use your magic for me." Here Cenred stood and retrieved a cup of water, bringing it back to Merlin. "Just something small, and you can have a reward. Come now, boy, aren't you thirsty?"

"Never," said Merlin again, and the whip cracked, and the young man cried out, and the queen gasped with delight.

"Stubborn little runt," Cenred said, standing and throwing the cup of water to the floor in frustration. Arthur felt his stomach clench as he watched Merlin's eyes linger on the spilled liquid. "Doesn't want riches, doesn't want women, doesn't want men! Doesn't want revenge, doesn't want power," the king was raving. He turned back to Merlin, "How did it feel, boy? All those years as a lowly servant, treated like garbage, all the while knowing you could crush Arthur's throat with a thought? How did it feel, to be chucked away like refuse? Don't you want to make Arthur pay? Don't you want him to kneel before you? Don't you want him to fear your power?"

"Never." Whip, moan, gasp.

Five more lashes, and with each one Gwaine twitched. Arthur turned to look at him, and saw that while the knight winced with each strike of the whip upon his friend's back, he refused to look away from the horror below. Finally it ended, and Arthur saw Merlin had doubled over in pain, barely supported by his knees and elbows.

"Bring the girl," said Cenred, and for the first time, Merlin looked up. Gwaine had to be restrained once more as Merlin's face was revealed, half of it covered completely in blood that had poured from a thick gash along his forehead and from another just under his left eye. His lip was split, both eyes were black, and his cheeks were so gaunt that he looked like death itself.

Everyone watched as a child was led by the hand into the court. A little Druid girl, by the look of her, no more than five years of age. A guard pulled her along and stood her in front of the king, facing Merlin.

Cenred looked at Merlin, "Just one little thing, that is all I ask of you today," he said, once more, walking forward to place his hands upon the child's shoulders. "Just a small display of magic, we can work on more later. Just one little thing, and I promise, there will be no more pain." Then he pulled a dagger from his belt, and held it against the little girl's throat. She froze, her wide and terrified eyes on Merlin, but she didn't cry out. "Just one little thing," said Cenred, "and I'll let the child live."

The air was thick with tension. Arthur realized he had been holding his breath. Below him nobody dared move. The child finally gave a meek sob.

Merlin bowed his head and Arthur knew that Cenred had won. The king smiled wickedly and relinquished the child to her guard and handed him the dagger, then he strode back to Merlin. As he did so he motioned for twelve other men to surround the captive. He was being cautious, but Arthur thought that Cenred had no idea what he was about to unleash.

A key was drawn from Cenred's pocket, and he unlocked the manacles at Merlin's wrists. He then looked Merlin in the eyes, and directed his attention to where the little girl stood in the grip of her guard, the dagger pressed to her throat. "Just one little thing," Cenred said slowly, before cautiously unlocking the collar around Merlin's neck. He passed the collar to the guard who stood directly behind Merlin, and the man held it ready to clasp tight again at a moment's notice.

Arthur didn't know what he expected. A flash of light, perhaps? A wall of fire? Or for every man in the room to be hurled backwards by an invisible force, and crumple to the ground dead? He didn't know what he expected, but he did not expect Merlin to remain perfectly still, on his knees, his head bowed. Time stood still.

And then Cenred's queen gave an astonished giggle of delight as an orb of blue light appeared in the air just above them. Everyone in the court looked up, causing Arthur and the knights to crouch in a panic behind the wall before realizing that they were too well hidden in the shadows to be seen by anyone below.

They peered cautiously down at the court again as the blue light hovered; it's surface flickering and dancing. "At last!" cried Cenred victoriously.

"It's beautiful!" Admired the queen happily. And she grinned up at it for several moments, clapping her hands and giggling with glee until it disappeared. She looked back at Cenred and scowled as she saw him replacing the collar and manacles, Merlin all the while remained unmoving and completely silent. Then Cenred brought another cup of water before Merlin, "Your reward," he said, pouring the liquid into his prisoner's mouth. Merlin drank, but Arthur could see that his eyes were shut tight. "Back to the tower," said Cenred to his guards, "And give the boy a blanket tonight, he's earned it."

Arthur, Leon, Percival, Elyan, and Gwaine had followed Merlin as he was half dragged, half carried to the tower prison. The tight, winding stone staircase that led up to the cell was narrow, and Arthur could see that a dozen guards were assigned to hold the stairs, in case Merlin somehow escaped. With the enchanted manacles and chains inhibiting his magic, though, Arthur knew that escaping alone and unaided would be impossible.

He seethed as he made his way up the stairs, unable to stop the scene he had just witnessed from replaying in his head. With each step up the tower Arthur saw the whip land on the already mutilated skin of Merlin's back. He thrust his sword into the gut of the first guard he met, and as the man's blood gushed over his hand he saw once more the blood streaming down Merlin's face. The body tumbled down the stairs, nearly tripping up the knights, but Arthur pressed forward relentlesly, dispatching one guard after another with silent and brutal precision, leaving not a single man for the knights who followed in his violent wake.

When he reached the door of the cell at the top of the tower, after having cut down the final guard and taking his keys, Arthur didn't hesitate. He couldn't afford to. If he hesitated he wasn't sure that he could go through with this. He was too conflicted to think of anything but removing Merlin from this citadel.

The sun had set, and when Arthur peered into the cell he could barely see a thing. Despite it being a tower cell, there was no window, and the shadows were deep. From behind him Elyan stepped forward, bearing a torch, and Arthur finally saw Merlin, huddled against the cold wall of his prison beneath a threadbare blanket, looking at him in shock.

"…Arth…ur?"

"There's no time," Arthur said, rushing forward, Gwaine pushing his way in and following on his heels. "We have to get these chains off!" Arthur pulled Merlin's hands towards him, a little roughly in his haste, and felt a pang of guilt when Merlin cried out in pain. Gwaine already held his sword aloft, "Hold still, Merlin!" said Arthur, taking a step back, "Gwaine, now!"

Gwaine's sword came down with a crash, but it merely glanced off the metal, sparks flying up where it had struck, and the knight roared violently in frustration.

"They're enchanted, Arthur!" said Leon urgently, "Our swords won't work. Let's just get him out of here!"

"Arth…ur…" Merlin began again, but he gasped as he was hauled to his feet, unable to speak for the pain.

They stumbled down the steps, Leon and Elyan in the far lead to make sure their path was clear, Percival immediately in front of Arthur and Merlin, ready to catch them should they fall, and Gwaine taking up the rear, looking like he could barely suppress the manic rage within him.

Down, down, down the stairs. "Arth…ur…" Merlin would occasionally gasp, but Arthur ignored him. He refused to respond. He refused to think. If he thought he would have to think about what the hell he was going to do with Merlin when he got him back to Camelot. No. _Down. Down the stairs, and away through the filthy tunnels through which they had sneaked into this godforsaken place._ That was all Arthur could think now.

They wended their way silently through the corridors, Arthur half carrying Merlin, moving mechanically and refusing to think about what he was doing, about what he had done.

Then chaos erupted before him.

Men yelled. Metal clashed. Arthur held onto Merlin with his left hand and swung his sword with his right.

Where were they now? He had just been following Leon and Elyan. It wasn't like Arthur to become so distracted on a mission like this! When had he stopped paying attention? How could he have let himself become so disoriented?

They fought with all their might, but Arthur and his knights were being forced down the corridor by a throng of men who vastly outnumbered them, pressing them back, through a doorway, and finally out into a large open room with crumbling walls that Arthur recognized. He also recognized the gasp of Cenred's queen, though this time she gasped in surprise rather than delight.

Arthur found himself backed into the center of the half ruined court, Merlin still hanging at his side, his knights forming a protective circle around the pair as Cenred's men eased off, but continued to eye them viciously.

"What a surprise," said Cenred, with pure, wicked joy in his voice, "Now, this! This I really didn't expect!"

Arthur gently lowered Merlin to the floor, took a deep breath of the fresh night air, and stood to face Cenred. Excalibur seemed to vibrate once more in his hand as if it ached for the cruel man's blood as much as Arthur did. He stared at his rival king with fury and hate, he wanted to brutalize the villain, he wanted to destroy him slowly in front of his despicable queen.

But Arthur wasn't even given the chance to speak. "Kill them," said Cenred, " Then put the boy back in his cell." And Cenred's men were upon them.


	2. The Last Dragonlord

**II. The Last Dragonlord**

"The chains, Arthur," Merlin gasped, holding his shackled wrists out in front of him, "Cut them away!"

Arthur looked at Merlin dismayed, shocked that he had the strength even to kneel and lift his arms, but he didn't have the time to wonder from whence that strength was drawn. "I can't!" he yelled, even as one of Cenred's men swung at him, "They're enchanted," he ran the man through, but he was only delaying the inevitable. They were all doomed, and he knew it, "Swords cannot cut them!" Another foul fighter had made his way to Arthur and was dispatched, "We need…" another foe cut down, "…the key!" And another enemy fell at his hands, but he knew he was defeated. Around him his loyal knights fought valiently, but they were five against fifty, with scores more waiting below should they by some miracle make it out of this courtyard. They would die here, now. It wouldn't be long until Merlin was broken, and then Camelot and all the Five Kingdoms would fall.

"No," said Merlin, "_You _can! _Your_ sword can! Trust me. Arthur!" Arthur swung round, momentarily protected by the circle of knights battling around him and Merlin. Merlin knelt in front of him, looking pitiable in his wounds, but with furious certainty in his deep blue eyes, his arms outstretched towards Arthur, the length of glittering chain that held his manacles together pulled taut. Arthur didn't have time to argue or even think: he brought his sword down.

Excalibur sliced through the chains like butter, and instantly the heavy shackles crumbled from Merlin's wrists into a pile of ashes on the stone floor. "HA!" Arthur laughed with stunned disbelief. Merlin bowed his head forward, and Arthur quickly but gently sliced the collar away. It offered almost no resistance, falling apart with barely a touch from Excalibur and dissolving into ash just as the manacles had done. Then Arthur was on the floor.

He wasn't sure what had happened. He wasn't injured. He grabbed Excalibur and hurried to stand again, and then he realized that every man in the room had fallen, and they were now scrambling madly to reach their weapons and get back to their feet. Arthur stood, and immediately felt something powerful wash through him; like a pulse, or a wave. It staggered him, but this time he did not fall. So to, did his faithful knights remain standing, looking shocked as all of Cenred's men again hit the floor. Arthur could see Cenred himself, a few yards away, brought to his knees.

Then Arthur looked at Merlin, who was standing now, only a few feet away from him. The blood that covered half his face and his entire chest no longer made him appear pitiable, instead he looked fearsome. He was like a terrible caricature of his wounded self, all in black, white, and red. His skin stretched so tightly over his bones that it looked as though each of his ribs, his collarbone, his shoulder blades, and the joints of his elbows were about to pierce right through. There was hardly an inch of him that was not bruised black or purple, and the gore of lacerations on his chest and lashings on his back oozed deep maroon blood onto his tattered trousers, droplets falling to the floor at his bare feet. The black circles around both his eyes only made the irises, which now shown brightly gold instead of their usual blue, stand out all the more. He was thin as a corpse and pale as a ghost but somehow a staggering amount of power emanated from his small frame. Somehow he seemed huge.

He didn't look like Merlin. And he said not a word.

Another pulse, and all the enemy men were thrown roughly against the stone walls. They did not fall, however, but hung grotesquely in the air, some of them kicking and twitching, trying to scream but unable to make a noise. The knights looked around them, stunned, their weapons hanging limply at their sides. Then Merlin raised his eyes to the sky, and began to yell. It was a voice Arthur had never heard before, deep and commanding. More of a roar than a yell, and in a language Arthur could not understand, but Arthur thought he heard the word _dragon_.

When Merlin stopped yelling silence overwhelmed the court. It seemed that every man held his breath. Even the summer breeze seemed to still. Merlin took a pace forward, towards Cenred, who crouched a few yards in front of him, quaking with fear, his horrible queen cowering in the shadows against the wall behind him. Merlin looked down at the king, his face like stone. "You did not know who you had imprisoned, did you, Cenred?" he said, his voice cold and steady.

Cenred merely gazed up at him, eyes wide with terror, unable to speak. Arthur felt as if his heart would freeze within his chest.

"I am Emrys," Merlin continued, "I am the last warlock. I am the last dragonlord. And you should not have tried to hurt my friends."

Arthur had forgotten that a hundred of Cenred's men stood below, until he heard the sound of their terrorized screams. He, along with everyone else, turned towards the yard a tier below, just as the Great Dragon dove down like a demon out of the inky black sky, streams of fire pouring from its gullet onto the mass of humanity below. The tortured cries of the army as they burned to death were matched in horror only by the stench of burning hair and flesh that seemed to meet Arthur's nostrils unnaturally fast. The dragon swooped up and down again, again, and again. It rained hell upon the men until the last of their cries faded, before it disappeared into the blackness of the sky, leaving the orange light of the mass of burning bodies to illuminate the courtyard.

Arthur looked back at Merlin, who still stared at Cenred. His expression was unfathomable, as the light of the holocaust danced across his bloody cheek. "Please," gasped the fallen king, "Mercy!" But even as he pleaded a trickle of blood began to drip from his nose, followed by the corners of his mouth, from his ears, and his tears turned red. He struggled to breathe.

"Merlin," Arthur gasped. He didn't know what he wanted or meant to say. He was just in shock.

Merlin turned back to Arthur, and the golden glow faded immediately from his eyes. There was a slight smile on his lips, though it was pained. He looked like Merlin again. He looked small, and fragile, and hurt. "Arthur," he said, his voice suddenly sounding very young, "you're safe." It sounded almost like a question. And then Merlin collapsed unconscious on the floor, his magic had been all that was keeping him up.

Around him Cenred's men fell, those who were still alive immediately fled. Cenred himself gasped for breath, still huddled in a ball on the ground.

"Merlin!" Arthur yelled, running towards the fallen man, Gwaine at his heels. But they stopped abruptly in their tracks when a great roar sounded and a set of gargantuan talons crashed down directly in their path. Before them was the Great Dragon. It stood thirty feet high, its gleaming golden eyes narrowed down at the tiny men in front of it. Each one of its claws almost the height of a man and nearly the girth, forming a cage around Merlin, through which Arthur could see the as yet unconscious young man.

The dragon stared down at Arthur with wild ferocity, and Arthur knew that the cage wasn't to keep Merlin in, but to keep anyone who might do him further harm out. Gwaine had taken an unconscious step backwards as he gazed up at the mighty beast, and behind him and Arthur, Leon, Percival, and Elyan stood with their swords aloft but frozen to the spot, not sure of what to do. Then, the beast spoke.

Arthur thought there could be no more shocks in a single day, so when the Great Dragon said his name, he gave up on disbelief altogether.

"Arthur Pendragon," The dragon said with an ancient and mesmerizing voice. "What have you done?"

"I…" began Arthur. He didn't know what to say. He took a hesitant step towards Merlin, reaching out, but froze once more when the dragon thrust its huge head towards him menacingly.

"Merlin is my kin!" Bellowed the dragon, "He is the last of his kind, and I will not let any more harm come to him!" The beast glared at Arthur with fury in its eyes. Arthur just felt confused, tired, and scared. It was one of those rare moments when he really didn't know what to say or what to do. The last time he'd felt so uncertain, he had asked Merlin for guidance. That day seemed a lifetime ago.

"The last of his kind," Arthur repeated dumbly. "Merlin, the Sorcerer." He still had trouble believing it.

"Not just a sorcerer," said the dragon, slightly more calmly, "A sorcerer is a man who learns to command the magic of nature through study and skill. Merlin is a warlock, born with magic within him. He is a creature of magic," here the beast paused, studying Arthur quizzically before continuing, "…and he can no more help what he is than I can help being a dragon…or you a king."

The anger seemed to be fading from the dragon's voice, and it sounded wise, but its fearsome claws remained unmovable. Arthur could feel that he was trembling slightly, but he couldn't bring himself to be ashamed. "All my life I've been taught that magic was evil. That magic corrupts."

"Is Merlin evil?" Asked the dragon, now speaking almost gently. If Arthur still had it within him to feel shocked, he would have been, for here he stood, conversing calmly with a monster.

"How can I know?" Asked Arthur, and he looked wearily at Merlin. "I don't even know him." He felt like giving up. Like nothing mattered anymore.

"Oh, but you do," replied the dragon. "He is no different from who he has always been. It is _you_ who has changed." Arthur stared blankly at the monster, "You learned something new about him, and that changed your perception. It did not change Merlin."

Judging by the dragon's eyes, it almost looked as if it was smiling, but Arthur knew that could not be. "You know his heart, Arthur Pendragon," it said, "Is there any evil in it?" The dragon cocked its head to the side and looked down at its own massive claws, "Look at him. What do you see?"

Arthur felt a tear slide down his cheek. He felt his knees suddenly give way. He heard Excalibur clatter as it dropped to the floor. And he found himself kneeling on the stones, inches from the deadly talons of the beast. He found himself reaching his hand through the space between the ivory claws and laying it upon the bruised and bloodied hand that lay palm up on the floor. He couldn't tear his eyes from the battered face before him, and within him a wave of regret, guilt, and loss hit so hard he felt as if he would drown, "I see no evil," his voice broke, "I see only my truest friend."

The talons lifted slowly away, and Arthur pulled closer to Merlin. He touched his face. And everything was silent.

Then, the dragon spoke again. "He is dying," it said.

"No!" gasped Arthur, pulling his eyes away from Merlin to look up at the beast. "No! Please, there must be something you can do. Use magic. Anything! Please, you must save him!"

"I cannot," said the dragon, and Arthur quaked.

"You're lying," Arthur exclaimed stupidly.

"I cannot save him," continued the beast, "But you can."

Arthur was numb. He no longer knew what to think or feel. All he knew was that he had to save his friend. "What do I do?" he asked.

"You must take him to the Lake of Avalon," replied the dragon, "There, the Lady of the Lake will heal him."

"I don't know the way," said Arthur.

"Then I shall guide you."

Arthur took Merlin into his arms and stood slowly. With a few flaps of its mighty wings the Great Dragon thrust itself into the air and hovered above them.

"Here, let me, my lord," said Percival, stepping forward and reaching to take the injured man. Arthur had almost forgotten that his knights were there.

"No," said Arthur, "I have him."

"And what about them?" Asked Gwaine, motioning with disgust toward the quivering king and queen. Arthur looked upon them, and he wanted to destroy them. He wanted to take a knife, and torture them slowly, until they begged for death.

"Leave them," he said, staring into Cenred's bloody eyes. "What will be done with them is up to Merlin. They won't be hard to find, and they can live the rest of their lives knowing that they will pay for what they've done." The queen let out a strangled sob, and Arthur led his men away from the courtyard, past the dozens of bodies crumpled on the floor, past the field of burning corpses, while the instrument of their destruction hung limply in his arms.


	3. The Lady of the Lake

**III. The Lady of the Lake**

It was the darkest hour of night as they rode through the forest and the moon was obscured by thick black clouds, but Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table found their path illuminated: thousands of tiny lights hung in the air, flickering and twinkling in front of them, as if the stars themselves had come down from the skies to guide their way. Above him Arthur could see the Great Dragon, silhouetted against the purple-black sky. In front of him sat Merlin, silent and unmoving, wrapped tightly in Arthur's red cloak. Arthur could see Merlin's blood on his armor, and he could feel it drying on his hands. Arthur wondered if Merlin woke at all. And he wondered if the blood would ever come off.

They rode for hours, and not one of them spoke. The events of this evening had been altogether too extreme, too strange, too gut-wrenching for words, and so each man shut himself down, his thoughts on one simple mission only: get Merlin to the Lake of Avalon.

Dawn was creeping slowly over the horizon when they arrived.

Arthur and his knights emerged from the wood and into a clearing. There was just enough grey light to make out the expanse of the lake, surrounded by woods, with snow-capped mountains rising up from the opposite shore. The Great Dragon circled silently, high above them. Arthur dismounted, and then pulled Merlin down and lay him gently on the ground. His knights stood behind him as he turned to face the lake.

"Arthur," came a voice, but it was like none Arthur had ever heard. He couldn't tell where it was coming from, and he and his knights all looked around, searching for its source."Arthur…" It was a female voice, or many female voices, Arthur wasn't sure. "Arthur," his name rang out again, more sung than spoken, and he realized that the voices came from the flickering blue lights that danced slowly in the air around him. Then the lake itself seemed to glow, only subtly, so that Arthur wasn't certain whether or not he was imagining it.

To his left and slightly behind him, Leon gave a startled jerk as he looked off into the wood. Arthur followed his gaze and saw dozens of cloaked figures emerging from the dark forest. The sound of gentle footsteps in the brush caused the knights to look to the right, and to see that even more Druids were slowly appearing. Dozens quickly became scores.

"Do not fear, Arthur," sang the gentle lights, "They are here for Emrys." The Druids themselves stopped and stood silently, watching from the edge of the wood, their multicolored cloaks muted and barely visible through the mist in the weak dawn light. Arthur looked back at the lake.

"What do I do?" he asked.

"You must bear him into the lake," came the gentle reply.

Arthur crouched down, and unwrapped the crimson cloak from around Merlin's unconscious form. Then he lifted his friend in his arms and walked forward, stepping from the dirt and grass onto the sand and stones, and then down into the water.

The lake was glowing, he was sure of it now. The surface seemed to glitter with moonlight though there was no moon in the sky. He had expected the water to be cold, but as he walked further out, so that the water met his knees and then his thighs, it felt mild and comfortable. He stopped when the water reached his waist, and Merlin's body, still clasped tightly in his arms, was partially submerged. And Arthur felt…calm. The aches in his tired muscles were easing, the weight of his burden seemed to lessen as he felt newfound strength surge through him.

The glittering lights hovered all around him, and over the entire lake, giving everything a gentle blue illumination. He could see how pure the snow was on the peaks of the surrounding mountains, he could make out purple wildflowers on the shore, the mist glimmered in the air over the lake, and he felt that this was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

Then the water in the center of the lake began to gently ripple, and Arthur saw a head appear. The face of a woman emerged from the depths, an ageless face that looked at once very young and very old. Her dark hair billowed out of the water and up into the air, swirling around her head as if she were still floating beneath the surface. She moved slowly towards him. Her bare shoulders now emerging and her skin as white as snow and glistening with pale light. A gown clung to her arms, just below the shoulders and flowing over her chest. It was of a material the likes of which Arthur had never seen; it looked as though liquid silver had swirled itself around her body, shining and ever moving.

She walked slowly forward and came to stand directly before Arthur, Merlin's body pressed in between them.

"Arthur Pendragon," she said, and her voice echoed slightly, almost as if it was coming from far away. She looked him in the eyes and gave a sad smile, her lips closed. Then she looked down at Merlin, and finally she scanned the shores of her lake.

Arthur was shocked when he realized he'd forgotten that they were not alone. He had never lost himself before like he had so many times on this night. He followed her gaze and by the pale dawn light and the glittering blue starlight of magic, he could see over a hundred hooded Druids lining the forest's edge. On the shore he could see his strong and still knights, watching the scene before them with awe.

Finally, he turned back to the woman, "My lady," he said, with a respectful bow of his head.

She smiled her sad, close-lipped smile again and looked down at Merlin. "Oh, Merlin," she sighed, and brought a hand out of the water to caress his pale cheek. As the water dripped from her hand it seemed to wash away more of the blood from Merlin's face than Arthur would have thought possible. "Oh, my love," she said.

"You know him?" asked Arthur, and he could tell by the tenderness with which the Lady looked at his friend that she did.

"Oh yes," she did not take her hand, nor her eyes from Merlin's unconscious face as she answered. "We were in love." She pulled her other hand from the water, and cradled Merlin's head. "We met in Camelot," she said, her eerie voice gentle and soft. "Only a few years ago, but it seems like a lifetime…"

Arthur watched her, almost hypnotized as she caressed his friend's injured features.

"We were going to run away together," she continued, "Run to a place where no one knew us, where we would no longer be hunted like monsters for our magic." There was no anger in her voice, Arthur noticed, only sadness. Still, he felt guilty.

"What happened?" he asked.

"I died," she said. She finally looked up and into Arthur's eyes, and he stared back, still as a grave. "I was mortally wounded by Uther's men," Arthur felt the guilt twist in his stomach like a knife, even though nothing about her tone was accusatory. "Merlin brought me to this lake, and I died on its shores. I died in his arms."

Arthur felt like weeping. Perhaps he was. He was no longer sure.

They were silent for a moment, and then he felt her reach underneath Merlin, as if to take him from his arms. "Don't worry," she said, when he held onto his friend, "My sisters will bear him up." And the glittering lights that hung in the air nearest them swarmed beneath Merlin, holding his body upon the surface as the Lady of the Lake took him from Arthur, backing a few steps away into the dark waters before stopping. Then, a hand on his cheek once more, she bent down and kissed him.

Merlin's eyes opened and he looked into the Lady's face. Something about her had changed, Arthur saw. Her hair had drifted gently down to her shoulders and now hung wetly down her back. The eerie silver glow that emanated from her skin and gown faded. The strange agelessness disappeared from her face. A touch of pink blossomed in her cheeks. She smiled, broadly and genuinely this time, as she looked into Merlin's eyes, and she looked for all the world like a normal girl.

"Freya," Merlin said, smiling up at her. He too, looked changed. He looked very young, like the innocent and gangling boy Arthur had met years ago.

Merlin brought a hand up and cupped Freya's chin. She covered it with her own, and even though he stood away from them, Arthur could see tears in both their eyes. Merlin, it seemed, saw nothing but Freya. They kissed again, more passionately this time. Merlin's hand reaching round to the back of Freya's neck and holding her gently but tightly, as if to be sure she was really there.

They held each other like that for moments or hours, Arthur wasn't sure which. The lights of magic drifted in the air around them, and they both seemed to glow, ever so fainty, like the surface of the lake. Not Arthur, nor the knights, nor the Druids made a sound.

After a long while, Merlin spoke again. "Am I dead?" he asked.

"No," said Freya gently, "This world still needs you."

The smile faded from his lips. "But I want to be dead," he stated matter-of-factly, "This world hurts too much." Arthur thought he felt his heart break

"I know it does, my Merlin," said Freya, his face in her hands and her face in his, "but you are strong, and you can bear it. For when your work here is done, you and I will be together again." She stroked his cheek, "I promise you." Tears streamed from her eyes as she spoke, but she was smiling.

"Freya," said Merlin once more, but she brought a finger gently to his lips.

"It is time for you to sleep now, my love." She leant forward and kissed him once more, her tears splashing onto his face. His eyes fell closed and his hands dropped gently back into the water. She kept her lips pressed to his, and Arthur could see the eerie glow return to her, her hair billowed up again, water trickled gently off her body and onto Merlin's, washing away his blood and closing up his wounds. The bruises began to fade, and when she finally pulled away it was as if a week's healing had happened in just those few moments.

She looked up at Arthur, and her voice again had that strange, otherworldly quality, "He will recover," she said, and began to walk towards Arthur again, Merlin half in her arms, half borne up by the magic light. When she reached him she placed Merlin into his arms, and the lights that had held him aloft drifted away and twinkled out. Under the water, Arthur could feel the Lady's hands gently grasping his arms where he held onto Merlin, under his back and beneath his knees. "It will take time," she said, giving his arms a gentle squeeze, "but he is no longer in danger."

It took a moment for Arthur to find his voice, but finally he said, "Thank you."

Then the Lady leant towards him, kissed him gently on the cheek, and whispered, "I forgive you, Arthur." And she turned, and walked back into the water. Before he knew it she was gone.

Arthur just stood there for a while, Merlin sleeping peacefully in his arms, the lake's waters cooling around him. He realized the magical lights had all disappeared, and that the light of day was filtering through a blanket of clouds and mist and onto the earth. He looked back towards the surrounding forest, and watched as the last of the Druids disappeared silently, back from whence they came. Then he looked at his faithful knights, waiting on the shore. Waiting for their king, and for their friend.

As he walked slowly out of the lake, he realized that his armor gleamed. The blood had all been washed from it, and from his hands.


	4. Epilogue

**IV. Epilogue**

Gaius had wept when Arthur carried Merlin into the physician's chambers. He had wept as Arthur related the tale of his adventures. He had wept as he examined his unconscious ward, tracing trembling hands over the half-healed cuts and bruises, his sobs punctuated with occasional, quiet cries of, "My boy. Oh, my boy." Arthur had never seen the old man cry before, let alone weep so freely. Arthur didn't know if the physician would ever forgive him for sending Merlin away. Or if Merlin would ever forgive him, for that matter.

Guinevere had wept too, sitting at Merlin's bedside and gently combing her fingers through his mop of black hair. Arthur would watch her from the corner of Gaius' chambers as she would dote, changing his nightshirts, adjusting his blankets, and fluffing his pillows. The Queen. The serving girl. He sometimes forgot how close she and Merlin were. They had been servants together, and they had been friends long before Guinevere had been queen, long before Arthur had even noticed her.

For her part, Gwen had treated Arthur only with gentleness. She seemed to know that his own guilt and fear were punishment enough for him to bear. She held him when he needed to be held, and kissed his neck tenderly. He had not realized how much he had missed his love, until he held her warm, soft body tightly to his own. He never wanted to let her go.

The knights seemed wearied by their adventure, and they spoke little to Arthur, though Arthur knew they were no longer angry with him. Even Gwaine had squeezed his shoulder with brotherly affection and looked into his eyes with gratitude when they'd returned to Camelot. The men were just exhausted.

Arthur hardly left Merlin's side.

Now he sat in a hard wooden chair at the head of the cot where Merlin lay sleeping, the king drowsing occasionally himself. The sunlight of late afternoon poured through the windows, as if it was trying to stretch itself as far as possible and touch every bit of the earth it could reach before it set for the night.

Merlin had not woken in the three days since they had returned to Camelot, but he slept peacefully, untroubled by dreams or fever. Several times daily, Arthur would watch as Gaius studied the progress of Merlin's recovery, washed him gently, and dipped a cloth into a jar of cool, fresh water, wringing the droplets out onto Merlin's lips to keep him hydrated.

The bruises had continued to fade, but lingered in pale shades of lavender and tan on Merlin's skin. The cuts and lashes over his body were in the process of becoming scars. Many of his bones had been broken, and while the magic of the Lady of the Lake had started them healing, his ribs were wrapped tightly under his cream colored muslin shirt, and his crushed left hand was splinted and bound securely in a sling to prevent him moving it in his sleep.

The enchanted manacles had burned into his flesh, leaving a mirror imprint of the ancient runes and symbols that had adorned them in the form delicate white scars that ringed Merlin's neck and wrists. Arthur thought they would almost be beautiful, if it weren't for the pain behind them.

And so Merlin slept, and healed. And Arthur waited, his nights spent sleeping upright at Merlin's side, still haunted by his recurring nightmare: _"You betrayed me Arthur. How could you?"_

"_I'm sorry! I'm sorry," _he would cry meekly, and sometimes Gwen or Gaius would shake him awake, as his words left his dreams and entered the real world.

"I'm sorry," Merlin heard someone mumble quietly. He opened his eyes and stared straight up at the ceiling, shafts of golden sunlight streaking across it. He could smell the familiar mingling scents of candles burning, herbs drying, potions brewing, and the fragrant air of summer mixed with the smoky musk of the city below. He knew exactly where he was, but he didn't dare believe it.

He stared at the ceiling in silence for a long while, reconstructing his memories of his last days in Cenred's citadel. He had given up. He had hated himself for performing magic at Cenred's command, even if it was to save a child. How much longer would it be, he had thought, before he was broken, razing entire cities at the will the power-hungry king? If his tower cell had had a window, he would have thrown himself from it. Everything hurt, and he could see no releif.

Then Arthur had appeared.

Now he felt weak, but surprisingly pain-free. The pillows upon which he lay were soft and comforting, and the room was silent but for the gentle and steady breathing of someone sleeping at his side, and the occasional distant clamor from the lower town.

"I'm sorry," mumbled the voice again, and Merlin finally looked over to see the king slouched in a wooden chair at his bedside, his head leaning against the wall, his face turned slightly towards Merlin as he slept. His chest rose and fell evenly beneath his plain white shirt, but his face was troubled.

"Arthur…" Merlin breathed, and the king opened his eyes.

They stared at one another in silence for several moments, and then Merlin tried weakly to prop himself up on his elbows. Arthur immediately reached forward to help, but flinched when Merlin instinctively jerked away. Arthur could see fear in his friend's eyes and he felt gutted.

"Are you going to kill me?" the words tumbled from Merlin's mouth before he could think. Arthur blanched and Merlin could see agony in his eyes. _Why did I say that?_ He kicked himself. He really _was_ stupid sometimes, he thought. Arthur had saved him from Cenred. He had taken him to Freya. He had brought him back to Camelot. Arthur had brought him home. He tried to apologize, to tell Arthur he didn't mean to say that, but his words seemed to stick in his throat.

"I…I…" Arthur began.

And then it was Merlin's turn to blanch as the king pushed the chair out from under him, knelt upon the floor, and bowed his head.

Merlin looked at him in horror. "No," he said, "No, Arthur, please. Don't bow to me. This isn't what I want," he gasped, his voice dry with thirst and shock, "This isn't what I want!"

Arthur didn't move. With his eyes downcast, he spoke.

"I do not bow to Emrys," said Arthur, "to the warlock, or to the last Dragonlord." His voice quavered slightly, "I bow to Merlin, my friend, whom I wronged."

Merlin couldn't speak, he could only stare at the golden hair on the back of his friend's head. Finally, Arthur looked up at him. "I'm sorry," he said, "I am so sorry. I let my anger and hatred overpower me." His eyes were glistening with tears, "And because of that, I lost my dearest friend." The tears streamed down his cheeks. He shook his head, "I told you once that no man was worth your tears…how wrong I was." His gaze returned to the floor.

Merlin couldn't describe the feelings that were washing over him. He just stared for a moment, unable to move, to think, or to speak.

Arthur was completely still, waiting patiently until Merlin finally found his senses and his voice.

When Merlin snapped out of his shock, he blurted out clumsily, "I forgive you!" Could words be clumsy? _If anyone's words could be clumsy, it would be mine, _he thought. Arthur looked up.

"Clotpole," said Merlin.

The two young men sat together that evening, speaking quietly to each other, with the fading light of a warm summer's day resting gently upon their faces. Not so long ago, they had been but boys: naïve, innocent, eager to please; foolish, reckless, quick to err and to forgive; separated by caste, by tradition, and by fear; at once as close to one another and as far apart as two souls could be. Like two sides of the same coin.

Now The Once and Future King and the most powerful Magician who would ever live rested in the comfort of each other's company. And while the weight of the world was upon their combined shoulders, each felt lighter than he ever had before.

For each knew that his friend would always be there to help him carry the burden.

The end.


End file.
